


Weeds.

by blaster_bolts



Category: Euphoria (TV 2019)
Genre: Gen, nate needs therapy exhibit c, self reflection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-25
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:55:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28317831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blaster_bolts/pseuds/blaster_bolts
Summary: In a garden, weeds and flowers are really the same thing. The only thing that sets them apart, that makes flowers the desirable plants, is the choice of the gardener. It is the gardener’s role to cultivate their little world into a utopia. This is the gardener’s duty. It’s the duty of all powerful people--to cultivate their worlds.Society is a garden and Nate Jacobs is a gardener.
Kudos: 2





	Weeds.

In a garden, weeds and flowers are really the same thing. The only thing that sets them apart, that makes flowers the desirable plants, is the choice of the gardener. It is the gardener’s role to cultivate their little world into a utopia. This is the gardener’s duty. It’s the duty of all powerful people--to cultivate their worlds.

Society is a garden and Nate Jacobs is a gardener. 

Nate accepted his role long ago, not that he had much choice in the matter. He was born with power, and thus born with the duty of cultivation.

To be a gardener, you have to have the respect of the garden. So Nate earned it. He spent years pushing himself to be the best, to look the best. Anything that gave him an edge, anything that could be admired.

So he got to the top of his domain. He was popular, he was  _ the  _ athlete, he had the power, and the power suited Nate Jacobs. Because power required ruthlessness and no one knew ruthless like Nate Jacobs. He wasn’t in control because he craved power--though he did revel in it--he was in control because it was his  _ duty _ to be. It was up to him to guide society. He sees himself as a messianic figure.

Nate stopped pacing and began to ponder the concept of control. It was a myth, of course, in the sense of self-control. An irrelevant line in the sand for how far a person could go. “Losing control” was just code for “I don’t want to face that I’m capable of that”. 

Control was  _ really _ about how far you could push others. If you get others to put you before themselves, you’ll never have to raise a finger in your life. You control others, you cement your own role, establish your own rule.

Nate wanted to rule.

Nate knew that there were people who hated him. There were people that had a fair reason to, and people who hated him solely on how they perceived him. It didn’t matter to Nate. They didn’t matter. They were weeds. In fact, Nate welcomed the fact that he would be hated. Nobody understood the weight he was under--the responsibility he faced. Nate had to help maintain the order.

Gardeners pull weeds because they threaten the order of their gardens. Maybe they look bad, maybe they’re growing wrong, maybe they’re a threat.

For Nate and his garden, anything  _ abnormal _ was a threat. Like his father.

Nate was very aware that people saw him following in his father’s footsteps. Except he  _ wouldn’t _ , not with everything. His father was weak. Flawed. Cal Jacobs was a weed masquerading as a gardener. Cal Jacobs was living proof that there was no such thing as self-control.

Nate felt the dark void in his chest grow heavier as he thought of his father. All of Nate’s darkness was manufactured by this hole in his chest. It’d been there as long as he could remember. It didn’t hurt, but it wasn’t quite pleasant either. It wasn’t the added or subtracted presence of anything; it was the lack of existence. It grew as he did and now it consumed most of Nate.

The cool of the mildewy basement broke through and sent a shiver up Nate’s spine. The smell did a fair bit to ground him. He felt his feet drag against the damp concrete floor. But the darkness still grew.

Nate paused for just a moment, wound his leg back, then kicked the lumpy pile on the ground with full force. A pained cry filled the room with an echo. Nate clasped his hands behind his back and turned his gaze on a crack in the floor. There was a grunt followed by another cry. Nate waved his hand and the commotion stopped. Two bodies stepped back from the huddled mass. The figure shifted slightly, then coughed. “Are you finished?”

Nate stuffed his hands into his pockets and dragged his gaze across the floor to grin at the kid. A drop of water fell from the ceiling onto his cheek, but he didn’t react to it. “We’re just getting started.” 

**Author's Note:**

> I feel the need to post some sort of disclaimer. Nate's an awful character, but I find him to be pretty compelling. He's interesting to think about from a psychological standpoint and the idea of a truly irredeemable character is really fun to me. So no defense stuff, just something I find intriguing.


End file.
